


Twenty Four Hours

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Cursed Castiel (Supernatural), Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fuck Or Die, Guilty Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Manhandling, Multi, Posessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rimming, Someone Tries To Barter For Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 02:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The old man has a book that might help Dean stay safe from Michael, but what he wants in return isn’t something Dean’s prepared to barter with.So he decides to take the book, but Cas ends up paying anyway.





	Twenty Four Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Some additional content warning (couldn’t find a tag for it): the old man who owns the book spends most of his time ogling Cas and then makes his intentions for Cas very clear.
> 
> I tagged for both non-con and dubious consent as while Cas accepts what has to happen to him in the bunker, it’s because he knows the alternative so really he only consents because there’s no other choice.

The elixir tastes like it was brewed in the toilet bowl, and it goes down just as easy; Dean gags, takes a breath, gets a handle on it.

Looks around at the others, sees they’re about as enamoured with the taste of Rowena’s concoction as he is, but it’ll do the job.

She’s a witch, but she’s been there for them, and Dean trusts her. She’s family now, and she knows how urgent this is.

“The rules,” he says. “Nobody touches him unless I say, or Sam does. Nobody does anything to him unless I say, or Sam does. And if he tells you to stop, you stop. If he makes the safeword sign, you stop. Anybody, anybody crosses the line here and I’m gonna deal with it.”

Sam edges a little closer to him, his presence urging calm, but fuck being calm.

This is _Cas_ they’re talking about, and this whole thing shouldn’t be happening, but it is and Dean will be damned if he’s going to just let these guys at his angel without knowing exactly where the lines are.

“I think we fully understand your boundaries, Dean,” Ketch says. He’s changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants (Dean didn’t even know he owned any clothes other than his sharp suits and a set of leathers) and looks like he’s about to go for a run never mind join in an orgy.

A fucking orgy.

“Just keep ‘em,” Dean says, because maybe Ketch isn’t quite the enemy he used to be, but he’s not a friend either, and Dean would never, never have even let Ketch know Cas was in trouble like this except…

Their Winchester brand of luck has whittled down the number of people Dean even has to ask over this, never mind the number of people he can trust.

And that’s why Ketch is here, and why Bobby is too, and once this is done, once he’s watched the alternate universe version of their surrogate dad spend a day….

He’s going to need a lot of brain bleach and/or a lot of alcohol to get over this one.

As the men file out of the room, Sam’s hand comes to rest on Dean’s shoulder.

“If you make them too scared to even touch him, this isn’t going to work.”

“I just want them to know-“

“They get it,” Sam cut him off. “They know he’s hurt, they know you’re both scared, and they know you love him. They also know, without having to be told, that if a single one of them does anything inappropriate, you’ll take their damn heads off. And you’re going to be there, Dean. Me, too. It’ll be okay.”

Dean almost huffs at the way Sam says ‘inappropriate’ like they’re not all about to spend a solid day doing ‘inappropriate’ things to an angel.

Well, all except for him.

++

By the time Dean unlocks the dungeon door, Cas is a curled up pitiful thing on the floor, drenched in sweat, moaning in pain.

It’s instinct that has Dean starting forward, but Sam grabs his arm before he can, stops him, and looks so hurt for them both that Dean swears his brother’s doing about as well with this as he is.

He rushes to Cas’s side, mutters low soothing words, strokes his hand down the angel’s back.

Cas arches into his touch, like he’s beyond desperate for it, and something sour taints Dean’s throat.

But he’d better get used to it. Cas is going to get touched a lot over the next twenty four hours, in all the ways, and there’s nothing to be done for it.

Dean edges closer, stops near enough to hear Sam checking in with Cas, but far enough away not to trigger any reaction.

“Cas. You still want to go ahead with this?”

Cas seems a little out of it, a combination of pain and exhaustion, and Sam gently strokes his cheek until he draws those pain wracked blue eyes to his own.

“Cas. Cas, I need you to tell me. We’re not gonna do anything unless we know you still want this.”

Consent. Dean wholeheartedly approves of it, thinks any fucker who doesn’t deserves castration with a blunt spoon and no anaesthetic. But like this…. Cas has zero choice, so, really, even if he proclaims he wants a go off everybody there, how is that even consensual?

But Cas nods. Ever the strategist, he knows like Dean does that the only cure for what ails him is represented by Sam, and the men standing in the doorway. Still, he looks ashamed as his gaze finally lands on Dean.

Dean doesn’t know why. This is on him, not Cas, and if there was any justice in the world he’d be the one writhing in agony on the floor just then.

But, as fucking always, somebody else is paying for his mistakes, and his chest aches when Cas forces his eyes back to Sam.

“I consent. Sam, please, hurry.”

Sam catches Cas’s hand, squeezes it, and then looks back at Dean.

He coughs, meaningfully, and Dean yanks himself out of it, sets the timer on his watch, and then backs out of the way.

“I’ll help Cas get undressed,” Sam tells the others. “You all get yourselves ready.”

And, just like that….

++

“You want the book,” the old man says. His fingers tremble as he lifts the fine china tea cup, causing it to rattle a little against the saucer in his other hand.

For some reason, the noise, an arrhythmic, delicate chink-chink-chink is like nails down a blackboard, and he wishes the guy would just put the damn saucer down (later, he thinks it was distraction, the clever old bastard reading him, reading them both, doing what he could to unnerve him).

That, and the way he looks at Cas, eyes roving his body, and Dean’s not an idiot, he can see the guy’s thoughts on his face, and it makes him bring the guy’s attention sharply back to him.

“Yeah,” he says, not even trying to dull the aggression in his voice. “Whole point in this little tea party.” He waves his hand at the full on china service decorating the table: a dainty tea pot, plates covered with precisely cut triangles stuffed with what looks and smells like salmon, even a tiered cake stand with various fancies.

They look and feel out of place here, like a couple of working class guys who’ve stumbled into Buckingham Palace but got invited to tea none the less.

“Such a brusque young man,” Wallace says. He smirks a little, and ok, Dean knows he’s forty, now, he doesn’t exactly feel old, but he supposes to somebody pushing ninety he is still a _young man_.

But then his gaze leers in Cas’s direction again, and that’s it, Dean’s had it with this creepy dude ogling his angel.

“So,” he snaps, and leans forward, trying to block the guy’s view. “What’s it gonna cost us?”

He pulls out the envelope of cash, every penny they could get together, hopes it’s gonna be enough (even if it isn’t, they’re not leaving here empty handed, because there’s no way that book is staying in this house, not with what Sam thinks it can do and please, Dean thinks, let him be right because if he is then they can close that open door in his head).

The man smirks at him. “Oh, I don’t need your money, Mr Winchester. I hardly look like I’m financially insolvent, now, do I?”

He looks like he’s rolling in it, but the book was _for sale_ and Dean’s not sure what currency they’re talking about here.

His confusion must show, because Wallace puts down his teacup.

_rattle chink rattle chink_

“When I decide to part with something from my collection, I usually barter for it. I judge for what when I meet the interested party, get a read from them, find what it is they hold personally, intrinsically, valuable.

“And then I ask for that.”

Dean frowns. The guy wants one of his personal possessions? It’s not like he’s got many. His watch, his clothes, his car (not happening, not ever), the bunker (but that belongs to the three of them, not just him), his weapons.

Honestly, there’s nothing Dean owns this guy couldn’t just buy a better version of, and he already lives in a rich man’s version of their house, just above ground with a garden and an actual honest to goodness orchard he can see from where they sit.

And then Wallace motions him to sit back, and Dean almost does, until he realises he has something else of great, immeasurable value, and Wallace has been telling him this whole time what he’ll want in exchange for the book.

“No fucking way,” he snaps, and then he’s on his feet.

Cas (he thinks, later, than maybe Cas worked it out first, and was just sitting there, probably weighing up how badly Dean needed the book vs what he’d have to pay to get it for him, and Dean is going to have words with him about that) catches his wrist.

“Dean.”

He can hear it all in Cas’s voice, the urge for restraint, to hear Wallace out, to come to some kind of bargain.

Hell, no. There is no bargain Dean’s prepared to make that involves his angel.

“He’s not for sale.”

Wallace chuckles, patronising, simpering, like Dean figures rich people do when they’re trying to insult you without using their words.

“Barter, Mr Winchester, barter. I don’t plan to keep him.”

“So, what, you want a selfie? An autograph?”

Wallace gets up, stiff and unsteady, and Cas does too, they’re all on their feet, and Dean can feel the sudden change between them.

Cas standing up tells Dean he’s sensed something, and he can too, like the whole dynamic in the room is different.

They came in, a hunter and an angel, to get a dangerous spell book from a ninety pound geriatric with no guards, no alarm system, and Dean marvelling somebody hadn’t just turned up and cleared the old guy out.

And Cas had suggested that maybe there was more to Wallace than there appeared to be.

But he and Sam, they’d checked the guy out, and he was just a guy.

“I think you both know what I want.”

As if he thinks they’re too dumb to explain it to, he snaps his fingers, and the double doors on their right swing open.

There’s a bedroom behind those doors, darkly furnished, deep mahogany and rich blue satins and an actual four poster bed.

“An hour would suffice.”

Despite it, Dean wants to laugh. This guy, this guy a stiff wind could blow over, wants an hour to fuck Cas.

He...his brain seems to jam because a) no, not happening and b) what Wallace thinks he could do in there…

Dean’s not sure the old guy could even get to half mast, but then his brain catches up with it all and considers the things this dirty old pervert could do with Cas, the ways he could touch him…

“Don’t let my age and physical condition deceive you,” Wallace says, and he’s not looking at Dean anymore. “I know many things. I’d receive my due payment for my book, having an hour to play with your very handsome _friend_.”

He knows.

The fucker knows Cas is Dean’s and he still…

“No.”

Dean grabs Cas’s arm, and starts him towards the door. 

“Dean,” Cas says, and he’s starting to dig his heels in, but Dean just tugs harder, and sends Cas a furious prayer, _not like this, never like this_.

Because they need that book but Dean isn’t whoring Cas out to get it.

It’s right there, though, in a glass case by the door, and Dean’s already decided what he’s going to do even as he nudges Cas aside and gives the cover a shove.

It’s latched down, but he puts his weight into it and the whole unit, glass, stand and all, tips and crashes to the floor.

Cas looks horrified, but then he turns his stare on Wallace, watching Dean’s back.

Dean scoops up the book, can almost feel the magic churning inside the cover.

And then Cas gives a strangled gasp of pain.

“De-Dean!”

When Dean looks at him, he sees Cas on his knees. He’s shaking like there’s a thousand volt current running through him, eyes rolling back in his head, and then he goes down.

Dean dives to his side, shakes him, and it gets worse. It’s like a full on fit, and Dean panics when he hears the way Cas’s breath starts to hitch.

He doesn’t need oxygen, he tells himself, he can’t suffocate.

But all the same, when his breathing stops altogether, panic rips through him.

He looks at Wallace, who’s smiling back at him, that confident upper hand expression.

“If you’d only been reasonable,” he says. “And not turned out to be a brigand.”

Dean’s gun’s in his hand a moment later, and he raises it and aims right at the old man’s head. He did this, he knows it.

“Let him go.”

“A few hours, that was all. You could have waited out here, if you were concerned with his safety. Or even come in and watched. But this is what you chose to do instead.

“Very well, then. Since you’d grudged me taking my pleasure from your angel, and yes, Mr Winchester, I knew very well what he is from the moment you walked in, then you will have to watch others take their pleasure from him instead, if you want him to live, that is.”

Dean gets up, aching at having to move away from Cas, and takes another step towards Wallace.

“I’m not gonna tell you again.”

“They’ll be touching him, _taking him_ , filling him with their filthy taint, and you won’t be able to, because if you touch him, go near him, he’ll suffer agony, your fault. And then at the end of it, I’ll still have the book, and you’ll still have to bring him back here if you want to get it. Because as long as I’m alive, it will never leave this house without my command.”

Dean fires once, and the bullet goes in narrow, comes out wide, spraying the wall behind Wallace with blood and bone and brain matter.

He’s so frail it knocks him flat, and Dean quickly tucks his gun away. 

He turns back to Cas, but putting Wallace down hasn’t helped. Cas is still shaking, heels tapping out a desperate rhythm on the floor.

When Dean touches him, it get suddenly worse until his head starts to thump hard against the wooden boards, and his body begins to thrash.

_If you touch him, go near him_....

Dean pulls back fast, gets up, even though his body wants to do the opposite, and puts a good five feet between them.

The fit doesn’t stop, but it does ease, and Cas is able to open his eyes after a few moments and even manage to say his name.

It’s hoarse, like he’s been screaming, but at least he’s not brain dead or anything.

“It’s okay,” Dean says. “Just… Cas, can you stand?”

It’s painful watching Cas trying to get up, seeing him struggle and stumble a few times before he finally makes it to his feet.

And now what, Dean thinks? They came in the Impala (Cas sitting up front with him, Dean reaching down a few times to just hold the angel’s hand) but how can he get Cas home when being near him is like torture?

But the bunker’s a four hour drive. They can’t stay here for four hours waiting on Sam driving up to get them, not with a dead body only feet away and Cas probably, definitely, in need of care.

That Dean can’t provide because he had to be a dumbass.

In the end, Cas gets into the back, tucks himself into the corner as far from Dean as he can, knees tight to his chest, and that’s how they make the trip back.

By the time they are home, Cas can’t walk anymore, his body jangling like he’s jonesing, and Sam ends up having to carry him in while Dean takes the book.

That fucking book.

++

Cas moans as Ketch sinks into him, the third, fourth time? Not for long as the Brit (satisfying a craving for the angel Dean suspects he’s held a long time) captures Cas’s mouth, swallows down the sound, and uses his weight to hold Cas still as he takes.

An objection lies heavy in Dean’s mouth; Cas is still shaking, harder sometimes than others, but never so hard as in that room when he was on the floor and then when Dean made the mistake of touching him.

The book, it has this very curse in it, but there’s no counter-curse, no way to cut it short.

Twenty four hours of this, or Cas would get worse and worse over that period, and then…

Even an angel wasn’t immune and Dean couldnt lose Cas again, he couldn’t.

This...Fuck his life when he had to own that this was better.

Cas has barely come when Ketch urges him up and onto his knees, and beckons Bobby over.

“You know how to use a mouth, old man? Don’t let him being an angel put you off. Needs must, and all that.”

Bobby grunts at him, apparently sharing Dean’s dislike of the former Letters operative, and then taps at Cas’s jaw.

Dean moves around, getting into Cas’s line of sight, catching the angel’s eye.

From the start, when he saw Cas enduring Garth doing something to him that Dean knows Cas hates, he’d realised Cas had no intention of trying to stop any of this.

So, now Dean is his safeword, because maybe Cas can fool everyone in here (even Sam, whose the next closest person to him in existence) he can’t fool Dean.

And besides, Dean…. Dean needs to know, even if it makes him a goddamn snake, that despite everyone fucking Cas, that Cas is still his.

That Cas knows that too.

He nods to Bobby and then backs away, shifts to the side so he can make sure they’re not too rough (even if this curse seems to demand it, even if it seems to want Cas to be used and demeaned) but watching Cas’s throat bulge around Bobby’s dick, hearing him groan as Ketch shoves in deep from behind, it’s hard not to look away.

But he won’t. He can’t.

When they’re done, and Cas is a panting, sticky mess lying on the old mattress Garth and Dean had hastily dragged down from one of the spare rooms, Sam lies on his stomach between Cas’s legs and, though the angle’s a killer, rims him.

Cas arches up, and Dean’s seen him reach this point where, as much as the curse is driving him for more, his body’s had enough.

But there’s no stopping, Dean knows that now, their only control changing from something that will actually damage Cas (physically or mentally) to something that won’t.

That’s why they needed the elixir. Because once they’ve started, they have to keep going, they can’t even give Cas a break he’s begging for, even if it is subconsciously.

Ketch grabs Cas’s wrists, and pins them to the mattress, and nods at Garth.

“Some participation would be appreciated.”

Garth looks nervously at Dean, but it’s Ketch Dean’s glaring at, the way he’s holding Cas down as he moans and struggles.

Any other day, Dean would shoot him dead for putting his hands on Cas, never mind restraining him.

Any other day, he wouldn’t have to, because Cas would toss the guy across the room.

But today, when Cas needs his intervention, he can’t give it, and so he nods at Garth and watches as the werewolf sinks down onto Cas’s dick and rides him until between him and Sam, Cas comes with a scream.

++

The last time a day felt so fucking long was when Dean was parked next to Sam’s bed, ignoring the doctors who came in and tried to talk about ‘options’.

At least now...at least Dean knows there’s a finish line, a marker they just need to push past, and then his watch beeps at him, and just like that…

It’s over.

Sam’s slumped over Cas, the elixir wearing off at the exact same moment, and they all of them look like they’ve just participated in a death march.

Sam pulls out of Cas, and reaches up to stroke his cheek, take his pulse, lets his hand settle in the middle of Cas’s chest to feel his respirations.

He looks at Dean, standing skittish at the invisible boundary he’d set, and jerks his head at him.

“It’s done,” he says. “Dean, come on.”

Still, he feels like his body’s rooted to the ground. It’s not just that he’s scared of hurting Cas by going closer…

Cas is still a panting, cum covered mess, and Ketch, Bobby, Garth, even Sam, have had him in such a combination of ways that Dean’s sure there’s not a square inch of his skin they haven’t touched.

Cas…. He can see Sam’s face turn thundery, and then Cas tilts his head to the side, looks at him, and he can see what Cas thinks, see him pulling away, disappearing inside himself, and no.

He runs those few feet, and Sam barely has a chance to get clear before Dean’s pulling Cas into his arms, and Cas honest to goodness _breaks_.

Dean holds him through it, and then Sam’s patting his shoulder, and the bunker door closes quietly over, leaving them alone.

++

It takes Cas a couple of days to get his strength back.

Rowena pays them a visit, kicks Dean out of their room, and then emerges an hour later to report that Cas will be fine. 

He just needs some time to recover, and to be handled gently, and Dean glares at her as if he had plans for anything else, but she glares right back.

He doesn’t know the exact moment when Rowena got so protective over Cas, but he’s not going to complain.

He wants that for him, wants Cas to have the family he deserves, who’ll do what it takes to keep him safe.

But when Cas is feeling more like himself, Dean wakes up to the angel softly kissing him, and he can see where Cas wants this to go.

He turns them gently, so Cas is lying beneath him, staring trustingly up at him, already open and slick and ready, and Dean slips slowly inside, taking back for them both what Wallace took from them, and this time, when Cas comes, it’s because he wants to, and he pulls Dean down to kiss him as Dean follows him through.


End file.
